Blink And You'll Miss It
by Supernatural is for Lovers
Summary: A collection of 26 shorts that touch on brief glimpses into the Winchesters' world.
1. A is for Assbutt

This collection is a hodge-podge of all my shorts that didn't play well with others and weren't drabbles... And I've decided to use them, and others to create my very own Supernatural Alphabet! So... yay! And it all starts will A, which is for Ass-butt.

* * *

**It Felt Like Home**

His hadn't meant to say it. The day had been particularly draining, old wounds that would never really heal had been reopened by memories, had the salt of false hope rubbed into them.

Damn but that customer at the garage had looked _so much _like him. But no, an inch or so shy, wrong shade of green in his eyes, missing the worry lines that forever adorned his forehead. Not him, not _Sam_.

"Look here, ass-butt," he'd demanded after twenty minutes of debate over labor fees. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as he fought back a particularly painful image of curious, piercing blue eyes. But no, dammit, he didn't miss the overly naïve angel. Angels were dicks. Cas had reinforced that when he'd left, dropped Dean like a sack of flour and hightailed it back to heaven the second he got his mojo back. Abandoned him. He didn't need the uptight prick anyway.

Sighing in a bone-weary way he turned back to the Sammy wannabe and agreed to lower the cost. Three hours of labor wasn't worth the pain his little slip had cost him. That "apple-pie" life Sam had been so hell-bent on sucked royally.

He slumped against the counter as the lookalike left, a hollow ache in his chest that he's fairly certain used to house his soul before it had all been used up. Nearly a month of playing "Joe Normal" and he was crawling out of his skin. This wasn't right, wasn't where he belonged. Seedy motels, no-name roads at three in the morning, standing over an open grave with a gun in one hand and a lighter in the other, _that's _where he belonged. That was _home_. Not here in suburban hell, no matter how much he loved Lisa.

He felt him before he saw him. A small charge shooting through him that had always preceded a tan trench coat and an invasion of personal space.

_Cas_. He stood still, not trusting himself to turn and face the too-large eyes he knew were staring straight through him.

"Dean." And the hand on his shoulder that followed that one word? It felt like home.


	2. B is for Breakfast

B was originally for Bela, but then I remembered I don't like her and then I ate some toast and then _voila_! B became dedicated to breakfast and the subsequent finding of their problem's epicenter. Funny, I always wondered what happened when they got to the old lady's house…. I blame the toast.

* * *

**Skill**

Dean was halfway to the counter with their customary on-the-job breakfast of coffee and junk food when Sam called him over to a corner-shelf, worry coloring his voice a shade that never boded well for Dean's immediate future.

Sure enough, "Are those what I think they are?"

Sam split one open, looking over the contents. "Yeah," he answered with a weary sigh.

"…. Son of a _bitch_," Dean muttered. Their case had just taken a whole new turn of screwed.

Sam pocketed the opened one and grabbed another, approaching the woman at the register cautiously. "You, too?" she asked as Sam laid it on the counter. "Those things have been selling like crazy since we got them in."

Dean groaned internally. Make that screwed with a side-order of royally fucked. Sam's face took on a level of earnest curiosity that could have even fooled Dean. Sometimes the skill that kid had for the con game downright scared him. "Do you know who makes them? I'd love to meet them, to do an interview for the special interests column of the paper," Sam lied flawlessly, flashing his fake press badge.

"Why sure I do, my mom makes them all. Says they're the _best _good luck charms."

"You don't say," Sam played, grabbing out a notepad. "Is there an address where we could find her at? See if she's willing to give an interview on her handiwork?" Sam is completely trustworthy. By all means, give him and his mildly homicidal brother directions to your mother's home.

Information in hand as they made their way back to the Impala Dean turned to Sam, exasperation lacing his tone. "What kind of sick bastard makes hex-bags for mass distribution?"


	3. C is for Clown

C is given to Clowns, because Sam, who has seen... everything that life has to terrify people with, is afraid of men in facepaint with flowers that squirt water. Oh Sam...

* * *

**A Familiar Fright**

_"I told you not to, didn't I?" Dean insisted, rubbing Sam's back as he shivered against him. His voice held no real malice though, he didn't have it in him to reprimand the hiccupping five-year-old curled in the blanket beside him._

_"I thought they were s-supposed to b-be _nice_," he whimpered quietly. Dean just sighed, tousling Sam's hair gently._

_"They are, Sammy. That one was make-believe."_

_Sam shook his head furiously, "NO! That's what they _want _me to think! Then they'll eat me and you'll never find me and then what, Dean?"_

_"I'd never like somethin' like that happen, Sammy," Dean reassured him softly, rubbing Sam's back until the shaking stopped and he drifted off into a fitful sleep._

Dean smiled at the memory as the familiar clown slashed into another one of its victims on the grainy TV. "Hey, Sammy, wanna watch a movie?" he called over to where his brother sat hunched over his laptop at the small dinette table.

Sam looked up, slightly startled by the invitation. "Yeah, sure, what's on?" He watched as Dean's practiced blank face slipped into the caustic smirk he was no longer able to bite back.

"IT."

Sam rolled his eyes to mask the small drop of terror the name brought. "Oh ha ha, Dean. Very funny."


	4. D is for Drag

D is for Drag, so I warn you, this is the drag that involves men in women's clothing. I was challenged by a friend of mine, who didn't believe I could get Dean into a dress and make it canon. I countered by reminding her that when Sam's the one coercing him, Dean will do... just about anything. Oh, and this :D

* * *

**Walk A Mile In Someone Else's Shoes**

"You are enjoying this _way _too much," Dean griped, casting Sam what would be a withering scowl under normal circumstances. Which these were far from, so it only caused Sam to smile more as he continued his work.

"Hush, you'll make me mess up and you'll look ridiculous."

If Dean's eyes rolled any harder they'd become permanently lodged in the back of his head. "Oh, God forbid _that _should happen."

"There," Sam said after a few more dabs, "all done." He stepped back to admire his work and Dean watched as his eyes grew so big they looked fit to pop out of his head. Then, without warning, he collapsed into an uncontrollable gale of laughter. "I… always said you were… pretty enough to be… a girl," he choked out between bouts of laughter.

Furious, Dean turned towards the mirror. 'This… is not real. There is no way in hell my life has come to _this_,' he thought as he surveyed the damage Sam had inflicted. Glossy lipstick and peach rouge applied to smoothly shaven cheeks coupled with tweezed eyebrows and eyes rimmed in smoky purple and thick black mascara, all put to shame by the wig Sam had tacked on him (rather too well actually, when Dean thought about it). He blew at a few of the deep mahogany-tinted strands that had come loose from the tousled curls Sam had affixed (once again a little _too _well) and fell across his eye.

"The hell kind of spirit haunts a drag club anyway?" he groused, cursing whatever higher power there may be for his horrendously bad luck.

"One that really likes me," Sam answered, finally able to regain some control. His smile was still wide enough to hurt though. "C'mon, we gotta go, show starts soon and we've gotta be behind stage before the curtain goes up if we wanna kill this thing tonight."

"Yeah, well, hurry up and put on your dress Francine, don't wanna be late to prom," Dean sniped, feeling a little better knowing he wouldn't be the only one using makeup remover after this case was over.

"Oh _I'm _not getting into drag," Sam answered, smile threatening to split his face in two as he fished for something in his pocket.

"Yeah, right," he scoffed. "Then how do you plan on getting past Kong and Gigantor, smartass?" he quipped, using his rather apt nicknames for the two well-armed seven-foot-something bouncers that guarded the club with an alarming joy of hospitalizing anyone they felt didn't belong.

"Real simple," Sam answered, hand finally emerging with his cell phone clutched tightly, "as a _patron_."

It took several seconds for his words to process. Then, "Wh- WHAT?" Dean choked, staring down at the clingy dress and heels Sam had wedged him into. "Then all this was…"

"Purely for my entertainment and blackmail for the rest of your life." Sam snapped a photo with his phone and bolted out the door before the after-images even cleared from Dean's eyes.

Dean reached up blindly to pull off the wig, planning on chasing Sam to the ends of the earth if he had to, just as soon as he looked himself again. Only there seemed to be a problem; Sam had apparently glued the wig on…. He ran for the door, his heel catching in the motel's tacky shag carpet, "SAM! GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE AND GET THIS SHIT OFF ME!"


	5. E is for Entendre

E is for Entendre, by request from my sis who wanted super-awkward dialogue-only. I hope you like it!

* * *

**It's Not What It Looks Like**

"Well, Cas? Whatcha think?"

"Dean that is… _far _more impressive than mine."

"Keh, ya really think so?"

"Yes. And so large."

"Well, I mean, it's your first time, didn't want to disappoint you. I fixed it up a little before I brought it out."

"So… how will we do this?"

"Well, first you pull yours out-"

"…. Alright."

"And then I'll come around you and put mine in. Sam, wanna give me a hand?"

"Yeah, sure man, no problem."

"Okay, hold it still."

"I got it, it's all lined up, go for it."

"There. Ahh… wow. Better than I thought... Cas? Why so quiet? Everything okay?"

"Yes, of course. This is… amazing. Is it always like this?"

"Well, yeah, I mean. For most people. Not for me and Sam though."

"But you and he have gotten to experience this before?"

"I dunno, Sam, would you even _count _our sad attempts at this?"

"No way, this is definitely so much better. This is… _awesome_."

"Definitely."

"I agree. This… what do you call it?"

"Christmas tree, Cas."

"Right. This _Christmas tree_ is truly magnificent."

"Better'n that Charlie Brown wannabe you had up before, at any rate. Now, where's the eggnog?"


	6. F is for Fugly

F is dedicated to Fugly and the fact that the boys have the adorable tendency to say the same thing at the same time be they together or apart. (You caught me, I was rewatching the "Maybe it's an anagram, Matlock" part of 2x07 again X3)

* * *

**It's Good To Have You Back**

"So what're we thinkin' the baddie of the week is this time?" Dean asked when he saw Sam's eyebrows shift from his '_don't-know-what-the-hell-is-going-on_' face to his '_yahtzee_' face.

"Revenant," he answered, turning the laptop so Dean could see the information he'd just found, including a sketch of the supposed beastie. "Apparently they're constructed from the corpses of several different people and bound by a necromancer's magic to do his bidding."

"Dude, he makes Frankenstein look like Fabio," Dean snorted.

"Eh, we've seen worse. Remember that scarecrow thing that pagan god in the orchard made its bitch a couple weeks back? Now _that _was fugly."

Dean started slightly and Sam's eyes narrowed in a 'what did I say?' moment. Suddenly Dean burst out laughing. _God _it was good to have Sammy back.


	7. G is for Gray

G is for Gray and all the sadness in my heart right now because I've just accidentally rewatched Swan Song. Curse you TNT reruns!

* * *

**Shades of Gray**

He remembers those four years that Sam was gone. Remembers how the entire world had dimmed 'til he just existed from one hunt to another; how back then life seemed to take place in varying shades of gray.

Then, by some miracle Sammy had returned to his side and the world once again exploded into Technicolor.

Now, as he sits hunched and shell-shocked behind the wheel of the Impala he can once again feel the colors bleeding away. He looks over at the hauntingly vacant passenger seat that will be empty no matter what color he sees it in and he thinks jaggedly, **'**_Let it_.'


	8. H is for Handmedown

I was having a very nostalgic moment, and so H is for Hand-me-down. Please enjoy.

* * *

**Playing Favorites**

When Dean managed to save up a little extra money from hustling or taking odd jobs around whatever town they were staying in, he would always insist on taking Sam out to get something new, a new backpack for school, a coat whose lining was still intact, something of his _own_.

Sam would act grateful, and truly he was, but he never had the heart to tell Dean that none of these things ever held much importance to him.

None of Sam's prized possessions had come to be _his _before passing through his brother's hands at least a hundred times. The threadbare AC/DC shirt he slept in most nights, the ancient Walkman that ate every tape put in it but after Dean tweaked a few things picked up every radio station in range crystal clear, his very first pair of steel-toed boots which had been missing half the tread before he'd taken a single step in them; _these _were his most treasured things. Things that had been looked after and cared for by Dean; just like Sam.

All of Sam's favorite things were hand-me-downs, but then, he didn't really mind that at all.


	9. I is for I

I is for I. I was trying to think of a word to make it and then I realized it already was, and then, it a matter of exactly 23.5 seconds (I have a notepad that counts for me because I'm a loser nerd like that) this appeared. And it's another sad one. *sigh*

* * *

**Who Are You?**

Dean had never really thought about himself in the singular. It was always 'us,' or 'we.' John would call from a hunt, or look into the rearview on a long drive and ask, "You alright?" and the answer would always be, "We're fine." His name was never mentioned solo, always run together with his brother's, "SamnDean" two people put together to make a semi-functioning whole. He remembered going to Kindergarten when each child would stand up and tell the class about themselves. "My brother and me," or "We," would always be the start of his sentences, and the habit never changed. He noticed, after a long time and a few bouts of self-reflection he felt were too chick-flickish to admit having, that he couldn't define himself without his brother. He was always 'Sammy's older brother' or, 'the one who watches out for Sammy.' He didn't talk much to anyone when Sam left, but when he was drunk enough to remember and the bar keep was cute enough to spend the time talking to first, he would always talk about his 'Genius little brother off becoming the next Matlock at Stanford.' And God only knows how many times Cassie told him to shut up about Sam when she was in the picture.

Now, when Lisa looks at him or Bobby calls him up, he answers with a quick "I'm fine," the sound of it cold and unfamiliar on his tongue. 'I' and 'Dean' sounded wrong when he heard them, constantly wanting to replace them with 'we' or hear people say 'SamnDean' again. He sits on the hood of the Impala most nights, staring up at the stars, always whispering the same thing before he goes back inside to Lisa, "We're gonna get through this, Sammy."


	10. J is for Justified

I wound up making J for Justified. AHBL was re-running on TNT and then I was like... I'm sure there were more arguements. Sam never lets anything drop. Ever. And I then I was like, Dean must have just been a lighter shade of broken whenever Sam was at school. And then... Well, and then _this _happened.

* * *

**Without You**

Somehow they've come back to his. It seems like no matter what the conversation, they always wind up right back here. It's a vicious cycle they've fallen into in the week since dean had struck his deal and Sam had woken up alone for the first time since Stanford. Dean is convinced that his actions are perfectly justified and all Sam wants in some sort of understanding. "You know what it feels like, Dean, to know that because of you someone's dead."

"Not dead yet, Sammy," Dean interjects with his typical indifference, staring sightlessly at the infomercial dancing across the motel room's grainy TV.

"Dammit, Dean!" Anger spiking at his continual nonchalance Sam shoot forward and rips the cord for the television from the wall, "This isn't some joke!"

Dean looks up at him earnestly, by parts both tired and genuinely confused. "I know that, Sam. I just… what do you want from me?"

Sam's voice lowers, his anger quickly fades leaving him hollowed and burnt out. "I just want to know why."

Dean opens his mouth to respond but seems to think better of it and quickly snaps it shut again. He doesn't answer, but sits unmoving and Sam assumes he's getting the silent treatment now but instead Dean reaches into his pocked and pulls his phone out, deftly pressing a few buttons as though he's done it so many times he's memorized the action. He sits it on the bed beside him as a voice starts crackling through.

It takes Sam a moment to realize that it's his own voice coming from the tiny speaker, low and slurred the way it gets when he's been drinking to forget and failing miserably.

_Dean,_ the voice mumbles, static rattling through the speaker as he sighs heavily, _Dean_. Just that for a moment and Sam looks up quizzically, but Dean's eyes haven't moved from the cell, so clearly it's not finished. _I uh… I got your postcard today, _a small, clumsy chuckle, _Robert Paige, cute. And… and I got my courses all lined up for next semester, and, y'know…. It was so weird today; I thought I saw someone that looked like you, but it wasn't. Y'know; _you. Another long pause, then the words come out in a rush, garbled together as though they hurt too much if allowed to linger. _I wanted it to be though, Dean. I miss you man_, followed by yet another pause long enough for him to think the voicemail had ended but Dean still hasn't moved. Then simply, _It is fucking _crazy_ how much I miss you_. There were a few scuffing noises as the phone was drunk-handled and eventually hung up.

Sam remains still, struck dumb as Dean slowly sits forward, idly running his fingers over the phone. He locks eyes with his brother, face twisted into a sad half-smile. "Four years, Sammy," he says quietly. "That was all I had of you for four years and it nearly killed me." He casts his eyes down, placing the phone back in his pocket." There's no way that could've been enough for however many years I'd've had left."

* * *

And so now, I'm stuck. I had an idea for K, then it exploded into a WIP that I'm currently working on, but I have a few others done (because I never do anything in order) and if you like you can go to my Livejournal and read them. The link is on my profile. Hopefully I'll have the in-betweens so I can get them up here soon. Thanks again! Now let's go watch the SEASON 6 PREMIER! OMG!


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